Death Note Drabbles
by Kyrianne
Summary: I'm getting lonely! Please review! :D Newest installment: Matt and Mello have a keg party. MelloxMatt
1. 5 Drabbles

_Death Note Drabbles_

by Kyrianne

A/N: These aren't written for any particular reason, except maybe to help me work on my prose. They're all random scenes or ideas that have been floating around in my mind for some time, and I've finally decided to finally get them down on paper (figuratively speaking -- I've only typed them). Any time there are spoilers or pairings, you will be warned. Please tell me what you think -- what do I need to work on, what parts did you really like, and what are your general feelings overall? I appreciate any and all comments, even flames if they have a valid basis to them. But please, don't flame just to flame. And I would really appreciate it more if you were just polite about your criticisms.

Before I forget -- I don't own Death Note or any of its characters, and I certainly don't wish to be sued. Death Note and all of its counterparts are sole property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Jump Comics. And whoever it is that's responsible for the anime. Sorry, I'm not sure who it is and I'm too lazy to look it up right now. ;

**1. The Real Thing**

_Sort of spoiler for chapter 37, but not exactly. This doesn't fit very well with the actual series, per say. ; Maybe spoiler for chapter 55?_

Two fingers of L's left hand gingerly pinch the area of fabric between clasp and strap, holding the purple and pink polka-dotted item in question level with his face. His arm is outstretched as if he doesn't wish to touch the item more than necessary. He leans closer to it as he brings his right hand forward, index finger extending to hesitantly poke the perfect curve of padded fabric.

"What are you doing with Misa's bra?!"

L turns to peer at the livid girl standing behind him. Impossibly, no guilt mars his pale face; instead, only mild surprise at her entrance can be seen. Misa's anger fades slightly to be partially replaced by uneasiness as L stares at her disconcertingly, large dark-rimmed eyes unblinking like a cat's. The hand that had been poking the bra is now at his mouth, thumb lifting the corner of his upper lip. He still holds the bra in his other hand, and his eyes flick toward it as he contemplates an answer.

"Would you rather I examine the real thing?" he inquires finally after much deliberation, his eyes gliding back to look at her as he speaks.

"Misa _knew _you were a pervert!" The shriek is indignant, infuriated.

Her anger spikes and blonde hair trails behind her as she stomps forward to snatch the bra back. L surrenders it without resistance and watches Misa's retreating back as she clomps out the door and slams it behind her.

He continues to stare at the closed door for a moment, wondering what was so perverse about his suggestion, before turning back around, resituating himself in his chair to maximize his comfort. His gaze slides to the monitors that line the wall before him, easily finding another activity to distract him from his boredom...

_A/N: Geez, is there any sort of synonym for the word 'bra' that doesn't sound like it came from a textbook? Sorry if my constant use of the word made it sound too repetitive. ;_

**2. Death of Perfection**

_Spoilers for chapter 74 and sort of 83. Maybe just the 80's in general, actually._

The first time Mello saw his reflection after the explosion, he had screamed.

Really screamed. The fear of sounding like a girl held no precedence over what he saw in the mirror.

The flawless swell of skin on his left cheek reduced to shreds. A mask of lumpy, angry-red scar tissue replacing perfection.

He had expected to die in that explosion. Now, he wishes he had.

It has taken him a while, but he has finally gained composure. He is almost too calm; his thoughts are on suicide.

He is seriously considering ending his life, has planned it out, every detail laid out with precision in his mind. He even decides on a date before he has a revelation.

If he quit life now, Near would win.

His thoughts do a complete turn of 180 degrees as he realizes this. His face contorts into a livid grimace, and he's barely able to curb the urge to let loose the savage scream of revenge that is climbing up his throat.

It's true that he'll never feel beautiful again, but at least he now has a goal:

Find Kira before Near does, then kill them both.

_A/N: Poor Mello. He's one of my favorite characters, actually; after he's reintroduced into the series in chapter 83, I just want to hug him or something. It's never specifically brought up, but you can tell that he feels ugly because of the scarring. If only someone showed him that he is still wonderful, he might not be so violent..._

**3. Hide It With Leather**

_Once again, spoilers for chapter 74 and general 80's. This one's kind of a continuation of the last drabble._

Hiding his scars was harder than Mello had imagined.

He could no longer wear the sleeveless leather shirt-vests that he used to love so much. Or at least he'd have to wear a jacket over it at all times.

The scarring wasn't only on his face; it went down his neck and covered his left arm, parts of his back, and continued down until it stopped just above his knee.

He wore long pants anyway, so that wasn't going to be a problem. But his face -- how was he going to cover the scar on his face?

He found a solution: he grew out his hair, using it as a yellow curtain to hide his ugliness.

He completes his new look with gloves, to cover the scars on his left hand, and wears sunglasses whenever possible.

Now all he has to worry about is what he'll do when it gets too warm for a full outfit of leather.

_A/N: I don't actually think Mello looks ugly from his scars. I think it adds a certain adorable charm to him, truthfully. ;_

**4. Comparing Scars**

_Again, same spoiler warning. ; I guess I'm in a Mello sort of mood right now._

Mello watches with fascination as the blood from thin cuts on his left wrist trickles down the length of his arm and falls into the sink drain, one small crimson drop at a time. His right hand trembles slightly, still holding the cheap, orange plastic razor that he had used to cut the careful, even slices on his wrist.

The self-inflicted wounds sting. He pushes on the edges roughly, forcing more of his blood to run into the sink, adding to the dark pool that lingers around the drain.

A smile creeps onto Mello's face slowly, this moment of masochistic torture bringing him altogether too much enjoyment. He raises his gaze to the mirror slowly, as if to share in his triumph with his reflection.

His breath catches. The smile drops from his face. A wave of nausea pulses through him, and he leans back over the sink to empty his suddenly convulsing stomach.

When he is finished, he looks back at his reflection. A pathetic, dispirited face stares back, looking dull from sickness and [despair. A face of white scars and grey skin. _His_ face. Even his eyes have lost their color, and his hair seems desaturated and lacking any sort of shine. Like he's a ghost.

Mello looks down at his wrist, its throbbing begging him to pay it some attention. He wills himself not to get sick again, and closes his eyes. The vision of bright slashes of red against a background of white burns under his eyelids, and no matter how much he wills it to go away, there it stays, haunting him. He waits, patiently, for peace.

He finally opens his eyes and turns on the faucet, pushing his now-silent wrist under the soothing flow. The cleansing water washes over his arm, diluting the red to a pale pink and then finally sweeping it away, down the drain to where Mello doesn't have to think about it anymore. He lets the moisture on his arm rain to the floor as he gets up from his kneel, making his way to the trashcan. He drops the razor, realizing he'd had a death grip on it, satisfied to hear the clunk as it hits the bottom. This new satisfaction gives him a bit of hope, and on a sudden whim, he grabs the tissue box. He plucks about 6 from the box and drops them after the razor slowly, waiting for each to settle before sending off the next, burying the weapon in its grave and vowing never to use it again. The final tissue falls from his right hand, which is no longer wavering, but holding still with his new determination.

When he looks back down to his wrist, he sees that the cuts have started to scab, and he knows they would be leaving more than just a physical mark.

Later, months from now, he would be comparing the scars on his arm, from explosion and razor. And he was already positive of something.

He would be hating himself for these.

_A/N: I'm not trying to say that Mello is emo, or anything. I just thought that he'd probably have some sort of moment like this. I think I like this one the least so far; maybe just because it seems kind of unreal, cheesy in a way. Please tell me what you think, maybe I'm just being stupid about it._

**5. Always The Winner**

_Somewhat spoilery for volume 4 in general, but not really. If you've read past that, you're fine._

Light coughs into the crook of his elbow for the seventh time in quick succession, and L finally decides to say something about it. "Raito-kun, do you have a cold you've decided not to inform me of?" He takes a bite of his cake with a nonchalant grace that no one but the best detective in the world could accomplish.

"I don't have a cold," Light responds, stubbornly, refusing to believe the fact that even God is succeptible to germs. He withholds many different expressions of pain; the skin at the back of his throat is sore and raw. He won't give L any satisfaction by giving proof that, yes, Yagami Light has a cold.

L notices his attempts to hide his expression anyway, but decides to go about it by a different approach. "...Does Raito-kun have to use the restroom?" he asks solemnly, though he is unable to keep the slightest of teasing smiles to work its way onto his face. His thumb reaches up to cover the quirk of his lip, but its mission fails; his enjoyment of this situation is only easier for Light to view.

And, as if to taunt Kira further, L's toes curl comfortably around the edge of his chair, as if he's settling in for the show.

Light can feel the grimaces fighting hard to display themselves, so he only works harder to conceal them, trying to ignore L in the meantime. His eyebrow twitches with concentration, and his jaw is set in determination. He won't give up. He'll win, just like he always does.

_L lacks the kind of attention span needed to torment me like this_, he assures himself, squashing the doubts he has about that statement before they can completely form in his mind. _Yes, he's beginning to turn away already..._

L turns toward the microphone set up beside his Mac. He presses a button, and immediately a giant capital 'W,' in his standard cloister black font, displays itself on every monitor on the wall.

"Yes, Ryuuzaki?" says a distorted voice before L can say anything.

L gazes up at the many screens as he answers into the mic, "Watari, please purchase some laxatives for Raito-kun. He seems to be having some...difficulties."

The detective waits for Light to respond, knowing that he will.

"I'm not constipated!" Light exclaims indignantly, secretly glad that L and he are working on the case alone this time; he hopes that Matsuda doesn't hear of this. L turns to look at him, the quirk of his mouth growing wider, then turns back to the microphone.

"While you're at the store, pick up some cold medication as well. I believe there is someone who will need it soon."

Watari, who had been silently waiting for his complete orders, finally replies. "Yes, Ryuuzaki. Anything else?"

"No, that is all." L is about to let go of the button before he adds, "Actually, I would appreciate an eclair or two."

"Laxatives, cold medication, and a dozen eclairs. That is all?"

L polishes off the last of his cake, plucking the final bit, a strawberry, from its place on the plate. He pops it into his mouth, contemplating its flavor with his tongue.

Light sends imaginary daggers at L with his mind, and the detective seems to have picked up on this, despite the fact he is turned away, because he answers:

"I've reassessed my earlier conclusions about Raito's need for the first item. Please, remove it from the list. That is all."

Despite the fact that Light had been directly made fun of by L, he is feeling quite good about himself.

Because while L was busy talking with Watari, Light had coughed all over his cake.

_A/N: XD I love this one. It's just so...silly. And if you're wondering why I use the true English spelling of 'Light' in the normal text and 'Raito' in L's speech, it's because 'Raito-kun' sounds so much cuter when spoken than 'Light-kun'. And since I'm an L fan, this is much appreciated cuteness, in my opinion. x3_

_I really hate colds. I have one right now, in fact. That's the only reason I thought of this, actually. coughs --; Writers shouldn't be able to get colds, either. We're gods in our own right, you know. _


	2. Chess Tiem!

_Vocab Exam_

_by Kyrianne_

A/N: I wrote this for an English vocab exam, hence the title. It wasn't actually a fanfic in the beginning, but it turned into one. Because of that, Near's referred to as 'the innocent boy' and Mello is referred to as 'the smug boy' until I decided that the characters were them. That's also why it sounds like they were trained in chess. XD It's kind of random, just a warning. Also, I did no editing but the little mistakes (like the word 'and' instead of 'at') because I didn't want to make this into a huge project. It was written in about 30 minutes longhand, so it's not very detailed and there are some problems with repetetive sentences. And the ending sucks. Gomen.

And I don't know anything about chess, so I'm sure this is kind of wrong in that respect. Also gomen.

...And I don't own Near, Mello, or Death Note. So don't sue me.

BUT DON'T LET ALL THAT CHASE YOU AWAY! 8D READ IT!

Guess which words were my vocab and I'll give you a cookie:D

----

The two young boys sat opposite each other, staring intently at the chessboard before them. One gave the other an innocuous smile as if to show that he was harmless. The other just smirked, his hubris showing clearing on his smug face. He had no doubt he would win the match this time.

Bystanders knew enough of the chess world to know that these boys were not of normal ilk, even among their fellow players. One might even think they were the kind that would done day be well-known, even famous, postumously, long after they had been interred into their graves.

The smug boy made the first move. The innocent boy smiled and returned the move.

It lasted for no more than a minute before they were at an impasse. None could move without putting himself in danger. The smug boy made the judicious decision to sacrifice a rook in favor of protecting his queen.

The innocent boy ignored the rook in favor of examining his other possiblities. A farrago of pity and triumph swept over his face as he took his final move, a gambit he had been taught but never had to use till now.

"Checkmate," he said in a soft voice, reaching up to twirl his curly white hair.

The smug boy's eyes snapped back to the board. He could see it was ture; there was no possible escape, no subterfuge he could pull to save himself. He flicked his queen over angrily.

"You win again, Near," he sneered, trying to make his failure feel a little better.

"You don't think things completely through, Mello," the white haired boy, Near, replied evenly. "If you had, I'm sure you would have come closer to beating me."

Mello gritted his teeth and brushed a lock of blonde hair behind an ear as he stood. "I _will_ beat you next time," he growled.

Near ignored his rival as Mello stormed away.

_Maybe I should let him win next time..._ he thought, then shrugged inwardly. _He can beat me himself,_ he decided. He stood and went to follow Mello, planning a peace offering of chocolate to help him feel better.

He knew that would ease his embarrassment.

----

A/N: Sucky, sucky ending. Whatever.

If anyone cares to know, I got an A+ on the exam. XD


	3. Mello plus Poetry equals NO WAI

_Vocab Exam 2!_

_by Kyrianne_

A/N: Another vocab exam that I used to write a fanfic. This time it was deliberate. XD Also, I found out later that one of my friends did the same thing for her exam -- a Death Note fanfic. So I'm sure the teacher is now wondering who the heck Mello and Matt are. Lol.

I think I got Roger's characterization really screwed up, at least in one passage, but I blame that on the words I had to use. Also, that's why this story is insanely dumb. Because I had insanely dumb words I had to use.

Also, if you see any duplicate vocabulary from the last exam I posted, that's because this was like the final exam from this semester, so I had to pick around 5 words to use from the words I had previously, along with 10 from Shakespeare's _The Taming of the Shrew_. Yeah. That's why there are strange words in this story. XD

I don't own Death Note or the characters I used for this story.

I'd tell you who won some ecookies, only I'm too lazy to go back and check. My computer doesn't have an internet connection, so I have to use my flashdrive to transfer stuff and upload stories. That's why it would be too hard to go back and check.

Okay, yeah. Again with the ecookies if you can find my vocab words. :D You'll get extra if you find them all! There are 15, in case you wanted to know.

I decided I'm trying out a different way this time to explain stuff. So you'll get a nice list at the end of the chapter. :D

----

"Please explicate why you missed today's exam," demanded the orphanage's headmaster, Roger.

The froward(1) youth before him smirked and flicked his blonde hair over a shoulder before replying, "I was researching the vigilante killer Kira. That's way more important than some test on poesy. Plus, you already know that I can write a decent poem."

"Kira is that man who is killing criminals, correct?"

The boy laughed peremptoriously. "Duh."

"The one that L is already investigating?"

The blonde paused to think before replying, "Yeah, but what if he's at an impasse and needs more information?"

Roger sighed and massaged his temples. "Mello, I think L would rather it were Near's sentience that would help. L, and everyone else, knows that you're too rash with your logic."

Mello glared at him, wishing he had a weapon so he could injure the man's pate, maybe even give him brain damage.

"I don't want you wasting a whit of your time on that investigation unless it's on your own time. Missing school, especially exams, isn't going to help you."

Mello snorted and, gaining a wantonly dramatic voice, said, "O Kira, one of such vile ways!/ Though you think you've won,/ it's really use who've won the race!" (2) He dropped the flourishing tone and added, "Yeah, we'll really defeat Kira with that poetry I missed." He stood up. "I'm leaving now."

"Wait!" Roger commanded, but the boy was already long gone.

_It's a good thing I have a fair amount of largess, or he'd have been punished,_ Roger thought. He sighed again. He was too forgiving to be a headmaster. (3)

Meanwhile, Mello had found his best friend, Matt, who was playing a video game, like always.

"Hey, Matt. D'you think we could sneak in a few beers tonight, maybe even have a party?"

Matt shrugged, concentrating on his game. Mello ignored him anyway; he was too busy daydreaming of the carousing party that he was bent on creating.

His thoughts were interrupted as Matt let loose a string of swears that left even Mello speachless.

"What was _that_?!" he asked finally.

Matt shook his head and explained, "Bandits stole the last of my cruppers."

"What the hell's a crupper?!"

Matt blinked. "Um, lessee..." He went into an extempore explanation. "A crupper is one of those leather things that keep the saddle on a horse. Except I think part of it goes through the horse's legs, too." He shrugged. "Whatever, all that matters is my characters can't ride their horses properly anymore."

Mello shook his head. "Someday, all those video games'll kill you. And I won't be there when you're interred in your grave."

Matt shrugged again, flicking off his gameboy.

"What's this I hear about a keg party?"

----

1. No, that's not a typo. coughvocabcough

2. Seriously, who knew that Mello was capable of producing such insanely random poetry? XD

3. Screw up of Roger's character. Sorry.

A/N: Um, yeah. This exam I didn't do as well on because I "didn't show definitions." Most of the words he counted down for I actually _did _explain, only you had to read the story further to see that. So now I'm pretty much positive that he just skims the paper and doesn't actually read it. Meh.


	4. The Bestest Party EVAR

_The Bestest Party EVAR_

_by Kyrianne_

A/N: This is kind of a sequel to the previous drabble. I just couldn't leave that keg party alone. XD

Since I wasn't lazy this time (omg no way), the people who won ecookies for the first vocab drabble are: Saphira279 and And-You-Thought-I-Cared. The vocabulary was as follows: innocuous, hubris, ilk, posthumously, interred, impasse, judicious, farrago, gambit, and subterfuge.

And no one's entered the other vocabulary contest thing yet. Pity. These cookies aren't going to be any fresher, you know.

Death Note isn't mine, etc etc. You know the drill.

WARNINGS:

1. This is very probably a crackfic. Or not. I don't really know how to categorize it.

2. It will be MelloxMatt. Because M&M is totally FTW. So, if you don't particularly want to read about random guy-on-guy snogging, I suggest you leave now. Only don't, because it's totally adorable. ;3

3. This particular story is actually rated T , for Mello's (and maybe Matt's, and the narrator's) horrendously vulgar choice of words. It's not horrible enough to be considered an M rating, but there are quite a few instances of the f-bomb in there, so I thought I'd let that be known.

4. It kinda keeps switching point of views. Sorry if that's confusing or hard on the structure when I switch between characters.

----

"This the kind you wanted?"

The familiar voice, slightly muffled by what Mello knew to be an unlit cigarette, cut into his concentration. The blonde slammed his pencil down into the table accompanied by his fist and prepared to yell at his best friend for interrupting his study time. For a split second, he noticed with satisfaction that the pencil point had left quite a dent in the table, but then his thoughts clicked back onto the revenge track and he opened his mouth to yell.

"Matt, what the hell are you doing?!" he exclaimed. "I'm trying to study!" As if that weren't already obvious enough, what with the Algebra II textbook laying open in front of a mess of college-ruled paper with pencil marks crawling evenly across the horizontal lines.

Matt didn't reply in words, but his action of plunking a six-pack of beer on top of the rumbled papers was enough of an answer for Mello.

"Holy shit, Matt!" Mello struggled for something else to say, but his brain was still busy trying to process the fact that he probably had enough alcohol in front of him to get him wasted to the moon and back if he wanted. Probably more than once. (1)

It was only natural that his brain went on next to think of the hellcrashing hangover that he'd have the day after if he were to seriously get fucked up like that. His temples started to pulse slightly as if to give him a taste of the pain in store, but his mind had already pushed the fear of a hangover off of a mental cliff and was thinking up ways to put the beer to better use. In other words, he was planning a party.

"...Mells?" Matt asked hesitantly after a few moments of awkward silence. He had decided not to reply to Mello's outburst, unsure of the emotion that had been involved. Now, he could feel his stomach tighten anxiously as he waited for some sort of answer from his friend. After all, Mello had _never _been quiet this long, especially about something so important. Another second passed, and Matt added, "Earth to Mello!"

"Matt, how many people do you know?" Mello demanded suddenly, and the question put the redhead off guard for a moment.

"Well, I know you, and Near, and I guess kind of Linda, only she likes you better, and I guess I know Roger..."

"No, dammit! People who you can invite to the party!" Mello fumed at Matt's simple answer. Didn't he know exactly how many people he knew? Mello made sure he kept track down to the exact number, so why couldn't Matt do the same?? (2)

"Oh. Wait, what party?"

Mello slammed a palm to his face in exasperation. His patience was seriously running thin. Why did Matt always have to make him explain everything? "The party we are going to throw tonight, with the beer," he explained in a very unexpectedly calm voice. He thought about blinking in surprise at himself, only then he'd look less intelligent, so he decided against it and was only surprised inwardly. He supposed his good mood about the beer was enough to override any impatience at Matt, since Matt had gotten it and all.

"Ohhhh! I guess I kind of thought you meant just us," Matt interjected, producing a cheap red lighter from a pocket and holding it up to light the silent cigarette he held between his lips.

"Why the hell would I have a party with just us?" Mello exclaimed, then reached up to snatch the cigarette away before Matt could light it. "Gimme that!"

Matt reached after the cancerstick and complained, "Hey, that's my last one!" He winced as Mello flicked it out the open window.

"Someday you'll die from lung cancer, and then I'll be sure to tell everyone at your funeral what a fucking idiot you are." Mello turned to glare at his best friend. Matt just shrugged, but had a good enough level of guilt that Mello didn't press any further on the topic. Matt was glad for this reprieve; he was used to getting the same rant about lung health from Mello almost daily, but it still made him feel uncomfortably guilty.

"Now, people to invite?" Mello prompted, already thinking of who he wanted to invite.

Matt held up a hand and began counting out potential guests on his fingers. "Well..."

"Why isn't anyone_coming?!"_ Mello moaned dramatically, standing to pace through the few bits of empty carpet they had left in their room. They had gone around and snuck an invitation by word of mouth to every older kid in Wammy House except Near. Mello wasn't necessarily against the possibly-albino coming to his party, but he sure as hell didn't want to actually invite him. He could come if he thought it was important enough to move his little white ass far away from his toys to crash the party.

But it was already reaching 8 o'clock, and there were still no party attendants besides Matt and Mello themselves. Maybe the invitations hadn't been persuasive enough? Mello knew he shouldn't have let Matt talk him out of ending with "or else."

Matt glanced sideways at the fuming Mello, hoping that his own excitement wasn't too obvious. He hadn't really wanted a full-blown party; he liked it better when it was just him and Mello. He never liked interacting with the outside world much. He'd rather discuss preprogrammed battle tactics with a virtual warchief in one of his video games or just sit and think. The only person he ever voluntarily talked to was Mello, and even that got tiresome after a while, and extremely emotionally -- and sometimes physically -- draining.

Tonight was different, though. He had enough energy for anything tonight. Well, only the sphere of Mello's anything. If any people actually did show, he didn't think he could take all the attention that was sure to be aimed at him. After all, Mello was sure to flaunt the fact that they stole the beer (even though it had really only been Matt). Matt cringed as he thought of the girls that would probably be hanging on him all night, cooing and fawning at his sexiness or whatever. How could he be sexy if he was underweight and hadn't gotten a haircut in who knows how long? (3)

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Mello snapped, noticing Matt's withdrawal and slight cringe. Matt swallowed slightly, aware of the blonde's simmering anger. Mello hardly ever used the word fuck in that context, unless it was really important or he was really pissed off. Since there wasn't anything obviously wrong with Matt at the moment, he was sure it was the latter.

"Dunno..." Matt murmured, eyeing the cans of beer stacked in a perfect pyramid. Maybe if he soaked his brain a bit before hand this party wouldn't be so bad.

Just as he was reaching for the can on top, Mello grabbed it before his arm could fully reach. Matt blinked once in surprise, but let his hand glide smoothly to the next can down. Mello had already opened his can and took a sniff of the liquid before taking a sip. He grimaced and muttered, "Tastes just as bad as it smells."

Matt watched him dubiously as he tipped the can back and swallowed at least half of it before slamming in back down and uttering a deep belch, followed by a very disoriented sort of blink.

"What?" Matt prompted him, seeing the familiar glint in Mello's eyes that preceded a comment.

"My brain is...oh_god_..." he squeezed his eyes shut and flinched, then opened them and grinned. "Tha's preddy weird. It's _burning._" His tongue felt like it was swollen in his mouth. (4)

_Shit,_ Matt thought, _he's already slurring a little_. He looked down at his unopened can and thought for a moment before shrugging and opening it.

_Ka-fshh..._

He took in the carbonated fumes just to see how it smelled, and his nose wrinkled as the little bubbles burned his nostrils. He glanced up to see Mello, still looking pretty sober despite his earlier slur, holding his own can up for a toast.

"Hmm?" Matt asked, wondering if his friend had something to say before they drank. Mello smirked.

"To this party of us. Let's make it the best fucking party _ever_."

Matt could drink to that.

"I know a game we c'd play," Matt suggested thickly after a while. Four empty beer cans littered the floor beside the bed they were curled up on. Matt was on his third beer, as was Mello, but the blonde had somehow been able to down two in such quick succession that it gave Matt a headache even to watch. Even now, as Mello took occasional sips from his newest can, Matt had to push his face to hide in Mello's chest to suppress the urge to empty his stomach. It didn't make much sense that he could drink his own beer just fine, but what really makes sense when your brain is in a constant fuzzy haze?

"Wassat?" Mello breathed into Matt's ear a moment too late, but the redhead was just drunk enough that he didn't care. All he could really think about were the slender fingers that Mello had been combing roughly through his hair for the past half hour. It took him a while to remember what he had suggested before.

"Um, wait..." He struggled to concentrate on remember what game he had been talking about, but at that moment Mello's fingers reached the nape of Matt's neck and he couldn't think of anything but the warm tingle that spread from the point of contact. A noise of utter bliss escaped from his throat and he snuggled deeper into the crook of Mello's arm.

"Matty, thas fuggin 'dorble..." Mello murmured in a very uncharacteristically happy voice. God, he was drunk. (5)

The blonde tipped the last of his final can into his waiting mouth. His tongue darted out to lap up the last few drops that clung to the edge of the can, then he threw it to pile with the others.

As if to prove he could drink even more than he had already, Mello moved his mouth back to Matt's ear and muttered, "Y'gunna drink th' resta yours?"

Matt surrendered his half-empty can without a fight. It was gone, disappearing into Mello's stomach, before he even realized that his hand was empty. "Thiss th' best drink _ever_," the blonde declared, then hiccoughed violently.

6 cans now piled on the floor. And it was only 9 o'clock. Had they really downed them all in only a short hour?

"C'mere, Matty..." Mello slurred, trying to sound sultry but only ending up sounding like he had a headcold. Matt complied anyway, snuggling even closer than he had been before. He was debating where he should put his head when Mello decided for him by grabbing it with both hands and crushing it under the hollow of his neck in a drunken embrace. "I fuggin love 'ou," he muttered darkly into the crop of red hair. His fingers tightened on the tufts they held for a moment, then they went back to stroking Matt forcefully on the scalp. Matt made another noise of his contentedness, but it cracked a little on the end with some sort of longing. The gamer pushed himself closer to his friend and wrapped both arms around Mello's chest, hoping that he never had to let go.

Matt could smell Mello's usual chocolate infused natural scent even under the clinging stink of alcohol, and he could feel his face warm with a blush as he breathed it in. His stomach fluttered with a misplaced sense of urgency that he had no name for. He tensed subconsciously, but calmed again as Mello's hand swept through his hair once again, much more gentle this time.

And how very _gentle_that was. Matt felt himself shiver uncontrollably at the storm of endorphins that spread through his veins like warm honey. His back arched slightly as Mello's other hand crept slowly down his spine to rest on the depression in his back just before his ass.

"Melloooo..." he moaned, aiming his nose upward to press against the soft flesh of Mello's jawline. The fluttering in his stomach grew and again he tried to place it, but his mind wouldn't functioning over the thick alcohol fog that monopolized the majority of his brain.

Mello replied to his outburst by grabbing his waist and pushing him away. Matt's heart wrenched in his chest before he realized that Mello was pushing him against the bed and was _crawling on top of him--_

He suddenly realized what he had been feeling.

Why hadn't he figured it out sooner?!

His panic seized him and his heart began to race uncontrollably in his chest. How could he be feeling this, so _strongly_, about his best friend, especially when it had never happened before? (6)

His soaked brain started to buzz from the pile of commands it had been given, then completely shut down as Mello leaned forward and pushed his mouth forcefully against Matt's.

The kiss lasted for only a second and could hardly even be _considered _a kiss, but Matt still found himself incapable of breathing, or doing anything, really. The only thing he could think of was the feel of Mello's mouth against his.

His eyes fluttered open; he hadn't even realized they had been closed. Mello's face lay suspended in the air above him by about 3 inches. It was cocked slightly to the left and a goofy smile pulled on the corners of the blonde's lips and gave his bluegreen eyes a playful (and slightly glassy) shine that made Matt feel as if he were drowning.

He _wanted_ to drown, forever if that were possible.

Matt could feel himself quivering with anticipation beneath Mello's warm body, and he blinked before turning pleading eyes toward the boy above him. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was suddenly parched and no sound escaped. He licked his lips, swallowed, and tried again.

"Agin..." he murmured. "Kish me agin..."

Mello didn't wait long to obey this command, dipping to press himself against Matt again. Matt groaned slightly as Mello's mouth moved sluggishly on his, performing a dance neither of them had ever thought to experience before.

A sudden cold form pressed against Matt's stomach made him jump in surprise, but he realized soon that it was only Mello's hand, tugging upward on the fabric of his striped shirt in a vain attempt to rid Matt of it. The redhead let his muscles relax and allowed the blonde to yank it off after a while. Matt leaned up to receive Mello's mouth again as he finished, pulling him closer by wrapping himself, arms and legs, around the other boy for extra leverage. A moan escaped the blonde's lips, and the noise left Matt feeling much more self-assured.

Mello pulled his mouth away suddenly, a wild look in his eyes as he looked back and forth frantically.

"Whuh?" Matt mumbled. Mello opened his mouth to answer and the contents of his stomach dumped onto Matt's bare chest. Matt flinched but then started laughing uncontrollably, and Mello joined in.

"S'rry, Matty," Mello giggled, pulling entirely away from Matt to view the damage. Matt glanced down at it himself, and his laughter started up again.

"Ull go gedda towel..." the blonde muttered, leaving Matt to fend for himself. It didn't take long for Mello to stagger back into the room with a bathtowel (Matt was just sober enough to realize with regret that it was his).

The mess took a while to clean up, Matt yelping, then laughing, as Mello's unorthodox method of cleaning tickled him to pieces. When Mello had finished, he leaned in to kiss Matt on the nose, then sat up and declared, "I needa choclut bar." He got up to search for one, but Matt grabbed his hand and pulled him to sit down again.

"Don' go yet," Matt slurred when Mello gave him a look of mild annoyance. He let a boyish pout stick out his lower lip and he murmured, "Kish me agin..."

----

1. That might sound kind of unrealistic, but you have to remember that Mello's like...14...maybe. I dunno. He's still at Wammy House. Whatever. Doesn't matter. XD More proof of how this thing is probably a crackfic.

2. Because I'm sure Mello is vain enough to keep track of the exact number of "friends" he has. Just so he can flaunt it later. XD

3. That's his opinion. I'm not exactly a Matt fangirl, but I'm sure that he's pretty sexy, even with his scruffy hair. Especially with his scruffy hair. XD

4. Sorry if this is going to be unrealistic. I've never actually been drunk.

5. Slurred words are surprisingly hard to render. o-O Sorry if you can't understand my poor attempts at it.

6. Hmm, I wonder what he's feeling. XD Didn't want to be too obvious with it; that would be dumb. You can figure it out, right?

A/N: Okay, seriously. Wasn't that adorable? Minus the Mello puke part. XD

I realized only after I'd finished writing that I did it past tense, like most of my fanfics, instead of the present tense I usually use for drabbles. Eh, whatever. Doesn't really matter, I guess.

Please review


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